by James Luceno
Palpatine formed his response carefully. “Senator Antilles thinks only of the Core Worlds. Doubtless he would advocate a policy of nonintervention. As for Senator Teem, he would probably bestow whatever the Trade Federation requests in the way of advanced weaponry or additional franchises.”
Valorum thought about it. “Perhaps I was wrong in ruling that the Nebula Front shouldn’t be allowed to participate in the Eriadu summit. I feared giving the impression that the Republic would be recognizing them as a political entity. Furthermore, I couldn’t envision them sitting down at the same table with the Neimoidians.” Confusion clouded his eyes. “But what could they hope to gain by having me killed?”
Palpatine recalled Havac ranting about not being invited to the summit. We need a stronger Supreme Chancellor, Havac had said.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” Palpatine replied. “But you were right not to solicit their participation. They are dangerous—and deluded.”
Valorum nodded. “We can’t risk having them interfere at Eriadu. Too much is at stake. The outlying systems must be encouraged to speak for themselves, without fear of reprimand by the Trade Federation or reprisals by the Nebula Front.”
Palpatine steepled his fingers in reflection, summoning memories of the recent meeting with Havac, hearing again his every word …
“Perhaps it is time to ask the Jedi for help,” he said at last.
Valorum regarded him for a long moment. “Yes, perhaps the Jedi would be willing to intervene.” He brightened somewhat. “Two of them helped thwart my would-be assassins.”
“Indeed?”
“The senate will have to sanction Jedi involvement. Would you consider introducing the motion?”
Palpatine smiled with his eyes. “I would consider it a great honor, Supreme Chancellor.”
Leaving the hospital docking platform behind, Sate Pestage accelerated into a midlevel traffic lane, then, at each vertical exchange, began to ascend toward the upper-tier thoroughfares, until he had entered a rarefied zone of limousines and private skycars. Here, one seldom encountered a taxi, much less a delivery craft, because those who resided in the heights owned their own vehicles, and goods were delivered to the lower stories of the buildings and moved skyward by turbolift.
Pestage kept climbing until he was in the uppermost lane. In that part of Coruscant, the lane was restricted to skycars the mobile traffic scanners could verify as enjoying diplomatic privilege, which Senator Palpatine’s vehicle did.
He piloted the car to the attached platform of a luxurious, kilometer-high skyscraper and docked. From the car’s luggage compartment, he retrieved two expensive-looking bags. The larger was a square handheld piece; the other was a sphere about the size of a sweetmelon, which fit snugly into a specially designed shoulder bag.
Pestage carried both into the building’s upper-tier lobby, where he was scanned head to toe before being allowed to enter the turbolift that accessed the penthouse. Once again, his employer’s credentials opened many a door that would otherwise have been locked to him. Few residents were about, and none gave him a second look, trusting implicitly that anyone who had managed to get into the building had every right to be there.
He rode the turbolift to the penthouse, which was owned by one of Palpatine’s peers in the senate, but was presently unoccupied, as the senator had, only the previous day, embarked on a visit to her homeworld.
In the penthouse alcove, Pestage carried the bags to the entry and tapped a code into a touchpad mounted on the wall. When the scanner asked for retinal corroboration, he entered a second code, which essentially commanded the scanner to cut short its usual security routine and simply open the suite.
The bypass code did the job, and the door pocketed itself into the wall.
Soft lighting came up as Pestage moved into the elegant front room. Furniture and artwork attesting to the senator’s refined taste were everywhere in evidence. Pestage went directly to the terrace doors and stepped outside.
Traffic hummed below the tiled enclosure, and the lights of still-higher buildings shone down on him. The air was ten degrees cooler than at midlevel, and nowhere near as grimy. From the chest-high wall at the edge of the terrace, Pestage could see clear to the Jedi Temple in one direction and the Galactic Senate in the other.
But those weren’t the views that interested him; only the view directly across the cityscape canyon, into a mostly darkened penthouse of similar size.
Pestage set the two pieces of luggage on the floor and opened them. The square one contained a computer, with a built-in display and keypad. The second was a surveillance droid, black and round, with three antennae projecting from its metallic pate and sides. Standing the computer on end, Pestage positioned the droid alongside it.
The two devices conversed for a long moment, in a dialogue of beeps and warbles. Then the surveillance droid levitated of its own accord and began to float out into the canyon.
Pestage repositioned the computer so that he could monitor the flight of the surveillance droid while he entered commands on the keyboard.
By then the black sphere had crossed the abyss and was hovering just outside one of the penthouse’s lighted rooms, and relaying color images back to the computer’s display screen. The small screen showed five Twi’lek females, lounging together on comfortable furniture. One of the females was Senator Orn Free Taa’s red-skinned Lethan consort. The others may have been lesser consorts, or simply friends of the Lethan, indulging in drink and gossip while the fat-faced senator was off visiting Valorum at the medcenter.
Pestage was pleased. The females were so absorbed in debauched merriment that they were unlikely to interfere with his business.
He instructed the surveillance droid to move to an unlighted window, three rooms away, and go to infrared mode. A moment later the screen displayed a close-up of Taa’s computer terminal, which, while it was capable of interfacing with distant systems, could not be accessed remotely.
Pestage did rapid input at the keyboard.
Pressing close to the window, the droid activated a laser and burned a small hole in the sound-silencing and blasterproof pane—just large enough to accommodate the computer interface arm that telescoped from its spherical body. At the end of the arm’s extensible rod was a magnetic lock, which the droid inserted into the access port of Taa’s system.
The computer booted up and asked for a passcode, which Pestage provided. A novice operative might have thought to ask Senator Palpatine how he had secured the passcode. But part of what made Pestage a true professional was knowing when not to ask questions.
Taa’s computer welcomed him inside.
Now it was simply a matter of slicing into the relevant files and planting the bits of coded information Pestage had been given. Even so, the infiltration was hardly routine. First of all, the data had to be untraceable, and it had to be implanted in such a way that the computer would be convinced that it had, in fact, discovered the data. Then the computer had to be instructed to reveal the data—to flag it—only in response to specific requests from Taa.
Most important, Taa himself would have to be persuaded that he had uncovered data of such resounding import that he was compelled to shout it from the rooftops.
At the center of the Jedi Temple’s High Council spire was an enormous holographic representation of the galaxy, which highlighted trouble spots and locations of Jedi activity. The spherical projection changed in accordance with signals received by a multifeed assembly located in the tower’s summit chamber, while a collimating disk located beneath the projection focused the signal beams and sustained them through power fluctuations.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan stood on the circular walkway that surrounded the holomap, waiting to be called before the members of the High Council. Several other Jedi were about, studying the map or headed for one of the three exterior contemplation balconies that overlooked the vast plain of cityscape below the Temple. It was from the dawn-facing balcony that Qui-Gon had
had his first real look at Coruscant.
“This is the first time I’ve ever seen Coruscant singled out,” Obi-Wan remarked as he gazed up at the sphere, his elbows resting on the walkway railing.
Qui-Gon glanced at the flashing spheroid that was Coruscant, then allowed his eyes to roam midway to the holomap’s perimeter, where a second spheroid was aglow.
Dorvalla.
“Coruscant should remain illuminated at all times,” he started to say, when yet another spheroid, at even greater remove than Dorvalla, began to flash.
“Eriadu,” Obi-Wan said, reading the graphic attached to it. He looked questioningly at Qui-Gon.
“The site of the upcoming trade summit.”
“Whose idea was that, Master?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Senator Palpatine,” a baritone human voice said from behind them.
They turned to find Jorus C’baoth watching them. An elder human Jedi Master, C’baoth had a chiseled face, white hair as long as Qui-Gon’s, and a beard three times as long.
“Palpatine represents Naboo,” C’baoth added.
“Just the world for Qui-Gon,” another human Jedi said from farther along the walkway.
C’baoth nodded. “More indigenous species in one square kilometer than you normally encounter on a hundred worlds.” He smiled faintly. “I could easily see Master Qui-Gon losing himself there.”
Before either Qui-Gon or Obi-Wan could respond, Adi Gallia entered the holomap room. “We’re ready for you, Qui-Gon,” she announced.
Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan folded their arms, so that each hand disappeared into the opposite sleeve of their cloaks, and followed Gallia to the turbolift that accessed the summit chamber.
“Don’t say anything, Padawan,” Qui-Gon said quietly when they reached the circular chamber. “Simply listen and learn.”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Yes, Master.”
Arch-topped panes of transparisteel afforded unobstructed views in all directions. The ceiling was also arched, and the lustrous floor was designed as a series of concentric circles, inlaid with floral motifs.
Leaving Obi-Wan to wait by the turbolift, Qui-Gon advanced to the center of the room and stood with his hands crossed in front of him.
To the right of the turbolift sat Depa Billaba, a slender near-human female from Chalacta, who wore a mark of illumination between and slightly above her eyes. Beside her was Eeth Koth, his face a jigsaw puzzle of lines, and his hairless head studded with vestigial yellow horns of varying length. Next came the long-necked Quermian, Yarael Poof; then Adi, Oppo Rancisis, and Even Piell, a Lannik warrior whose face bore a puckered scar. To Piell’s left sat Yaddle, a female of Yoda’s species; Saesee Tiin, an Iktotchi, with downward-facing horns; Ki-Adi-Mundi, a strikingly tall humanoid from Cerea; Yoda, in the red chair that cupped him; and Yoda’s peer, Mace Windu, a powerfully built, dark-complexioned human with a shaved skull. To Windu’s left, close to the opposite side of the turbolift entrance, sat Plo Koon.
Fingers interlocked, Mace Windu leaned forward in his seat to address Qui-Gon. “We’ve just met with members of the Judicial Department, regarding the attempted assassination of Supreme Chancellor Valorum. We’re trusting that you can shed additional light on what transpired at the Galactic Senate.”
Qui-Gon nodded. “I trust that I can.”
Yoda glanced at Windu, then leveled his gaze at Qui-Gon. “How came you to be at the senate, Qui-Gon? Alerted by your source in the Nebula Front, were you?”
“I’ll answer that,” Adi Gallia said. “I asked Qui-Gon to accompany me to the Senate, to speak personally with Supreme Chancellor Valorum.”
Windu regarded her with a frown. “For what purpose?”
Adi looked briefly to Qui-Gon. “Qui-Gon has reason to believe that the Supreme Chancellor errs by relying on worlds along the Rimma Trade Route to end terrorism in those sectors.”
“Is this so, Qui-Gon?” Ki-Adi-Mundi asked.
Qui-Gon nodded. “The Nebula Front receives much of its funding from those very worlds.”
“Knows much about the situation, Qui-Gon does,” Yoda said with false flattery. “Correct he was about Captain Cohl surviving the explosion at Dorvalla.” He paused. “Behind the attempted assassination attempt, is Cohl?”
“No, Master,” Qui-Gon said. “Cohl is on the run. Furthermore, I’m not persuaded that the Nebula Front actually wished to harm the Supreme Chancellor.”
Yoda’s expression hardened. “Shot him, they did. Traced by documentation to their secret base in the Senex sector, they were.”
“Too easily, Master,” Qui-Gon said, holding his ground. “The signs were far too obvious.”
“Terrorists they are. Not soldiers.”
Windu looked at Yoda, then at Qui-Gon. “You’ve obviously given thought to this. Continue.”
“The assassins aimed their bolts at Supreme Chancellor Valorum’s guards. I believe that the bolt that grazed him was inadvertent. The escape was also unconvincing. And since they must have known in advance that there was little chance of all of them getting away, why would they carry documentation?”
“Unlike Captain Cohl, eh, Qui-Gon?”
Qui-Gon nodded. “He would not have been so careless.”
Yoda brought his right forefinger to his mouth. “Plan this he did—from afar. Seek out your Bith contact in the Nebula Front, you must.”
Qui-Gon turned to him. “I’ll do that, Master. Still, why would the Front target the Supreme Chancellor, when he has finally taken a stand against the Trade Federation?”
“Answer your own question,” Windu said.
Qui-Gon took a breath and gave his head a quick shake. “I’m not certain, Masters. But I fear that the Nebula Front has something even more treacherous in mind.”
Hyphens of angry light streaking past her to all sides, the Hawk-Bat fled the surface of a green planet, graced by two small, close-set, and heavily cratered moons. Her ardent pursuers were a trio of slender-bodied vessels, Coruscant red from stem to stern, with blunt bows, a trio of large, drum-shaped sublight thrusters, and multiple pairs of turbolaser batteries.
In the gunship’s cramped bridge, Boiny studied the console’s authenticator displays. “Corellian space cruisers, Captain! Gaining fast! Estimated time before they overtake us is—”
“I don’t want to know,” Cohl said from the captain’s chair, as an explosion pitched the ship roughly to port. “Blasted Judicial Department! Don’t they have better things to do?”
“Apparently not, Captain,” Boiny rejoined.
Cohl swiveled away from the forward viewports to regard Rella, who had the controls. “How soon before we can make the jump to lightspeed?”
She shot him an angry look. “The navicomputer is holding out on us.”
Cohl glanced at Boiny. “Persuade it.”
The Rodian staggered across the cockpit and slammed his hand against the navicomputer.
“That’ll do it,” Rella said, relieved.
Another bolt rocked the ship.
“Route power to the rear deflectors,” Cohl ordered.
“I’m on it, Captain,” Boiny said, as he strapped back into his chair.
Rella turned slightly to Cohl. “You know, not everyone thrives on close calls.”
He laughed theatrically. “This from someone who claims that an escape isn’t worthwhile unless it’s narrow?”
“That was the old me. The new me has different ideas about what’s fun and what isn’t.”
“Then you’d better stow the new you until we hit clear space.”
Stung in the tail, the Hawk-Bat shuddered as she rolled to one side.
“Where are those jump coordinates?” Cohl snapped.
“Coming up now,” Rella assured him. “It’s time we put this sector behind us, Cohl. Every one of our hideouts is under surveillance.”
“And just where are we supposed to go?”
“I don’t care if we go live with the Hutts. I just know it’s gotten too hot for us here.”
C
ohl grimaced. “Don’t tell me you’d work for those bloated worms.”
“Who said anything about working?”
“What about our retiring in high style?”
“Right about now, I’ll settle for retiring, plain and simple.”
Cohl shook his head. “That’s not the way I planned it. Besides, I don’t like the idea of getting chased out of my own hunting ground.”
“Even when it’s clear you’ve become the prey?”
Cohl watched Rella for a long moment. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re thinking of quitting this tour.”
She bit her lip and nodded. “Unless you decide to come to your senses, Cohl. We’re too old for this. I want to make good on some of the promises we made ourselves, before it’s too late.”
He thought about it, then laughed. “You won’t walk. You know you’d miss me and come looking for me.”
Rella showed him a sad look. “You’re still thinking of the old me, Cohl.”
He glanced at Boiny. “Am I right or wrong about her looking for me?”
The Rodian ducked his crested head. “Don’t get me in the middle of this. I’m only good at following orders.”
Cohl shook his head at Rella. “Our first fight.”
“Wrong, Cohl. Our last.” She reached for the throttle. “Making the jump to hyperspace.”
With laser bolts still nipping at her, the Hawk-Bat surged forward. The stars elongated, and the gunship blinked from view.
In the greeting room of his office in the Galactic Senate, Valorum slipped into his veda cloth robe and regarded his image in an elaborately framed mirror. His right arm was almost healed, and instead of the cumbersome tube, a soft case was in place, concealed within the ample sleeve of his overcloak.
A pair of Senate Guards flanked the door, facing into the room, but Valorum ignored them as he prepared for the imminent arrival of Jedi Masters Mace Windu and Yoda.
The Valorum dynasty had long hoped that one of its offspring might be strong in the Force, but, by all accounts, it appeared that the Force just wasn’t in Valorum blood. That regrettable absence, however, hadn’t stopped Finis Valorum from revering the Jedi. As an entitled youth on Coruscant and on other Core worlds, he had passed countless hours with the family chronicles, devouring accounts of his ancestors’ dealings with the order—often with Jedi Knights and Masters of legendary status. The tales had only firmed a belief developed early on that, even if he couldn’t be a Jedi, he could at least model his life after them, behaving as if the Force were his ally, and devoting himself to upholding peace and justice at all times.
